


Four Minutes, Twenty-seven Seconds

by Chifuyu



Category: Basic Instinct 2, Casino Royale (2006), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adam is a hedonistic little slut, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, Le Chiffre is amused, M/M, Madancy AU, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, hannigram AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man looks at Adam as if he doesn’t belong, and if he’s honest with himself, he can’t argue with that. It’s funny still, to see him conveying disapproval with nothing but a twitch of his admittedly beautiful, curved mouth; the mismatched eyes sizing Adam up and very obviously not liking what they find.</p><p>Well, Adam has always preferred a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is self-indulgence in its purest form, really. The lovely [Allegra](https://twitter.com/allegralovelace%20) asked for a Le Chiffre/Adam Towers fanfic and I couldn't resist the prompt:
> 
> _"Adam Towers from Basic Instinct 2 is a debauched, hedonistic lil sl*t, who runs into Le Chiffre during his investigations and the two start an affair a la 9 1/2 weeks. Both are in it for sex but then feelings ensue, surprisingly for both."_

Adam struts through the place like he owns it, which is both entirely untrue and entirely ridiculous. He smiles his brightest smile as people watch him with thinly veiled disdain or desire, glass of champagne in one hand, the other stuffed into his pocket. He's dramatically under-dressed, with his simple corduroy pants and black polo-neck sweater, Adam realises as he scans the crowd; the men in sharp tuxedos or suits, the women in glittering gowns. At least he's leaving an impression.

He harbours no illusions that this evening will be anything but dull, shallow entertainment, and even the contacts he might make here, are hardly worth the hassle. It's certainly not the kind of event he usually attends; too much pretentiousness, too much money gathered up in one hotel ballroom. He wouldn't even be here, if not for the insistence of one of his benefactors, and Adam is not so stupid as to refuse him and risk the man’s good graces.

Adam has interviewed him a few times, at the request of his publisher. A successful business man, if that's what you want to call a guy who owes everything he is and has to daddy's money. Married, two children, has a weakness for pretty boys. Which is part of the reason he has brought Adam as his date, rather than his own wife. Another would be that he gets off on parading Adam around like a prized pet. Utterly boring. Adam doesn't even remember his name, but he can't blame the man for wanting to bring him here. He _is_ pretty after all, and he knows it. He's also the only person at the party who doesn't have to fake his RP accent. Americans and their illusions about the grandeur of the British Empire. Almost charming.

The man he accompanies throws Adam a look, an all too pleased smile plastered onto his face as he puts a hand on the small of Adam's back and tries to push him into the direction of a group of people chatting animatedly in one corner of the luxuriously decorated room.

Yes, he definitely wants to show Adam off. Probably hopes to fuck him later, too. He must think himself very suave, or very well-hung, if he believes Adam is willing to overlook his numerous character flaws for a quick fuck in one of the suites upstairs.

"Excuse me for a moment?" Adam purrs before the judgemental crowd can pounce on him. He squirms out of the hold with practised ease, placating the man with a sultry look and a flutter of his long lashes. It's a promise he has no intention of keeping.

He dives into the crowd instead, ignoring the soft calls of 'Adam?' echoing after him. The nerve this guy has. Adam has never given him explicit permission to call him by his first name.

There are a few familiar faces among the masses. Some Adam acknowledges with a soft nod of his head, others he ignores. A lot of these men and women he knows in passing, has read about them, collected their business cards (which he has neatly organised in his ring binder), but it’s obvious he doesn’t really belong _with_ them, with his unruly curls, simple sweaters and scarves. Well, there are worse things to do than attend a lavish party, indulge in excellent food and enjoy sparkling champagne.

If he’s lucky, he’ll even find somebody interesting enough to spend the evening with, somebody who wouldn’t be averse to fucking Adam in one of the numerous bathrooms, or between the expensive coats hanging in the cloakroom. Somebody with character, not Mr. Wife-and-Two-Children.

Somebody like the man sitting in a far corner of the room, all alone. Adam is immediately intrigued. The room is stuffed with people, but he sits alone, not a soul close by. Adam takes it as an invitation. He sways his hips he makes his way over to him, invading the man’s space on purpose, lashes lowered coyly before he glances up - as if on accident - and their eyes meet.

The man looks at Adam as if he doesn’t belong, and if he’s honest with himself, he can’t argue with that. It’s funny still, to see him conveying disapproval with nothing but a twitch of his admittedly beautiful, curved mouth; the mismatched eyes sizing Adam up and very obviously not liking what they find.

Well, Adam has always preferred a challenge.

He flops down next to the intriguing stranger and makes himself comfortable in one of the plush armchairs, his legs crossed, a flute of champagne casually held between two fingers. Adam allows himself a look around the premise, purposefully avoiding the cold stare the man is giving him, and which he can see out of the corner of his eye. From this position, one can overlook the whole room with ease, and Adam is sure the man has chosen his seat with this in mind.

“A pleasant, little affair, isn’t it?” Adam finally says, taking a sip from his champagne as he turns to meet the other’s eyes.

He’s close enough to discern their colour now. Colours, he corrects himself. One a milky white, surrounded by minuscule scars spreading out like spider webs, the other a deep, warm brown that reminds Adam of sunlight shining through a bottle of whiskey. On another man these eyes would have appeared comical, too much like something a mediocre crime writer would come up with for his tragic villain. On him though, they are nothing short of regal.

Adam gets ignored and the man turns away, breaking eye contact. It hardly bothers him. Life as a journalist has made him impervious to the silent treatment a long time ago already, and he leans back in his seat, the embodiment of deep relaxation and calm confidence.

There are other things that will tell him enough about the handsome stranger across him. Small, near invisible things. For one, he’s dressed in an immaculate black suit; custom-tailored, Adam thinks, and a little too depressing for this kind of party. A man who values control and his own opinion, probably. A man who has to uphold appearance. Somebody who enjoys the finer things in life, and has the money to afford them.

In stark contrast to the midnight black of his suit stands his pale skin, balancing the fine line between sickly and snow-whitish beauty. He’s not one to get out and enjoy an afternoon in the sun, Adam deduces from that, chuckling softly to himself. Less a man of physicality and more one of intellectuality, if the way his eyes scan the vast crowd and linger only long enough on each individual to commit their facial feature to memory is any indication.

For the most part, he seems calm, sitting in his armchair as if he owns the place (And who knows? Maybe he does. Adam hasn’t bothered to research the proprietor of this fine establishment prior to attending, and he makes a mental note to rectify that mistake later) but the fingers of his left hand tap an impatient rhythm against the armrest of his chair, and Adam wonders if it’s a nervous tic outside his control.

“It’s rather rude to stare."   
  
The voice is a pleasant surprise. Crisp, clean, with a softness curled around the sibilants that sends an electric tingle down his spine. He has an accent Adam can’t quite place: southern Europe perhaps?

“It’s also rather rude to ignore somebody just trying to make conversation,” Adam counters and presses his bottom lip against the crystal of the champagne flute, mouth curled into a smile.

“I wasn’t aware your astute estimation of this event required any form of affirmation.”

Oh, he’s an interesting one. Pointedly polite, but with a cutting edge to his timbre, thickly laced with sarcasm, that tells Adam in unmistakable terms what the other thinks of him.

“It bores you, doesn’t it?” he asks.

It earns him a raised brow and the man’s attention. There is a glimmer of interest when he regards Adam, and he’s not above revelling in the scrutiny, eyelids fluttering coyly while he uncrosses his legs and spreads them just enough to make it appear like an unconscious move.

“There are certainly far more productive things you could imagine doing with your no doubt precious time, but one has to uphold an image, right? Socialise a bit, shake a few hands here and there.” Adam grins, drains his champagne and puts the glass down on the end table between them - mahogany, if he isn’t mistaken. “How far off am I?” he asks and rests his chin on his hand, leaning over in the armchair.

He can smell the man’s cologne like that, a fragrance more powdery than Adam would have expected from somebody like him, but with a distinctive Old World feeling to it that fits right in with the aura of aristocracy the man’s shrouded in.

The other remains silent, contemplating his answer before he sighs softly and leans back in his seat.

“Not very far,” he admits, and Adam’s smile widens.

“Adam Towers,” he says and extends one hand. “Journalist and author.”

After a moment of hesitation, the other takes the offered hand and, to Adam’s delight, his grip is firm and warm.

“Le Chiffre.”

Adam blinks, surprise flitting across his face before he can regain his composure.

“Now that is a fancy name,” he chuckles. “No occupation though?”

An interesting name for an interesting individual, and Adam finds himself more intrigued with every passing second.

Le Chiffre pulls his hand back first and folds it neatly in his lap, all prim and proper. “Are you trying to conduct an interview, Mr. Towers? Do you have a professional interest in my person?” he asks.

“What if I have?” Adam purrs, despite having absolutely no intentions of doing anything in that regard.

“Then I’d advise you to contact my publicist,” Le Chiffre answers.

There’s humour in his voice, albeit subdued, but his stoic expression remains unchanged. Adam wonders if he’d look like that with his cock down Adam’s throat as well, or if that would provoke a more passionate response.

“Good thing then that my interest in your person is entirely unprofessional,” he says.

Something flashes in Le Chiffre’s eyes at that, something primal and dangerous, and Adam can’t resist the urge to pull his lower lip in between his teeth and bare his neck in a subtle offering at the sight. The gesture isn’t lost on Le Chiffre, judging by the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly.

“Indulge me if you would, but what are you interested in exactly, Mr. Towers?”

He shrugs and tears his gaze away from Le Chiffre to let it linger on the distinguished crowd. Most of the people assembled here he knows, half of them he has fucked, all of them are boring as hell, not a spark of originality in any of them.

“I’m interested in interesting people - comes with the trade - and you seem like a very interesting person, Mr. Le Chiffre.”

He waves one of the waiters over with a flick of his hand and orders more champagne, smiling brightly when he hands the woman his empty glass to take away with her.

“Why would I in any way be of interest to you?”

Adam throws him a mischievous grin. “Apart from the tailored suit, the mismatched eyes and the mysterious name? No idea! I just think there’s a story behind all that.”

“And you would like to hear it?”

“Not necessarily, but I wouldn’t be averse to it either.”

What he actually wants, Adam thinks, is for Le Chiffre to show him more of the raging beast that has emerged for a fleeting moment as he looked at Adam with danger glinting in his eyes. He’s sure, so sure, that the calm demeanour Le Chiffre displays is merely a cover for something far more vicious, and Adam is keen on finding out what that something is.

“As a journalist you’d know that every information has its price,” Le Chiffre points out and brushes non-existent lint off his dress pants. “And I’m not convinced you can pay it, Mr. Towers.”

“Most of the men I approach are more than willing to take my form of payment.”

He lets his voice linger on the last word, dragging it out in a soft drawl that has brought lesser men to their knees already.

Le Chiffre is not so easily defeated it seems. His only reaction is a soft chuckle and a shake of his head.

“Mr. Towers, did I give off the impression I’d be interested in the form of payment you offer?”

_Oh yes, you did…_

“Let me be frank here, Mr. Le Chiffre. I’m a good journalist, a very good journalist, even, and I’m so good at what I do because I can read people. And you know what I read in you?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for a reply. “You are bored stiff here. These people bore you and me chatting you up has been the most interesting thing to happen to you all evening.”

Le Chiffre appears to be actually impressed, and has the decency not to try and deny Adam’s allegations.

“And what would you propose?”

Adam shrugs.

“I’d say let's ditch this party and have some fun of our own.” He eyes Le Chiffre, a grin adorning his plush mouth. “The kind of fun that ends with me on my hands and knees and your cock so deep inside my ass I can feel it in the back of my throat.”

Le Chiffre doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even blink. He simply gets up from the chair and straightens his clothes, the glass of half-drunk champagne forgotten on the table.

For a moment, Adam fears he has been too brash after all and insulted the man, but then Le Chiffre turns and cocks a brow at Adam.

“Please follow me, Mr. Towers.”

He almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get up and scurry after Le Chiffre, who is already gliding through the mass of people with effortless grace. Unlike Adam, he doesn’t have to beg and plead for people to make way for him. The crowd simply parts whenever he’s approaching and Adam can do little but follow in his wake.

It’s somewhat humiliating, to stumble after the man like an obedient puppy and be seen by every single person in the room. As Adam makes sure not to meet any of the gazes thrown his way, it dawns on him that this was Le Chiffre’s intention all along. It’s degrading, it’s infatuating, and it makes Adam’s cock twitch in his slacks.

Le Chiffre leads them upstairs, along a gold and white floor, to a set of doors that are intricately carved with what Adam believes to be biblical scenes. He doesn’t have the time to appreciate their beauty, for Le Chiffre pulls a single key out of his breast pocket and, as he turns it in the lock, the doors swing open without a sound, revealing the elegantly furnished room lying behind.

“Now look at that,” Adam whistles in appreciation as he steps inside.

The interior is nothing short of breathtaking. Deep, rich colours wherever Adam looks, expensive materials used in abundance, the decoration extravagant yet sophisticated.

Most of the space is taken up by a king-sized bed in the middle of the room, covered in clean, white linens and what looks to be a velvet duvet cover. At the foot of the bed stands a heavy, wooden chest the colour of dried blood, cherry wood perhaps, and just as richly ornamented as the doors had been. Left of the bed is what seems to be a seating area with two well-cushioned chairs, a tea table and - is that a fireplace?

"Is this your room?" Adam asks over his shoulder and circles the bed, letting his fingers glide over the neatly folded sheets. They're as soft as they look.

"All of this is mine," Le Chiffre explains and waves his hand in an all-encompassing gesture.

So he _is_ the owner of this place after all. Interesting.

"And do you often host these kind of parties?" Adam prods.

Le Chiffre doesn't answer immediately. He closes the heavy doors first and turns the key in the lock before he puts it away on a small glass table standing in one corner of the room. "I do. Mostly for the reasons you’ve already described. Socialising, cultivating contacts, catching up with my associates."

Adam turns to face the other man, his lips parted in a boyish smile as he leans back against the edge of the bed. "Do you also fuck your associates?"

There is a feline grace to Le Chiffre's movements as he steps closer, eyes never leaving Adam’s, not even when he takes off his jacket to put it over the backrest of one of the chairs. "No, Mr. Towers. I keep it strictly professional."

Adam laughs and tilts his head in disbelief. "Really? This is what you'd call professional?"

"We have already established that nothing about your interest in me and my interest in you is professional."

He smiles, his mouth parting to reveal exceptionally sharp teeth. "And you're not one of my associates."

"What am I then?" Adam asks, his voice a low whisper.

Le Chiffre is so close, Adam can smell the faint tang of sweat underneath his cologne.

"You're a greedy slut, hungry for cock."

It's said so matter-of-factly, Adam is struck speechless. He stares wide-eyed up at Le Chiffre. Not that he can argue with the man's estimation, but to have his desires spelled out so dispassionately feels akin to a slap in the face.

"Am I right, Mr. Towers?" Le Chiffre presses when Adam fails to respond.

"What?" he asks and blinks.

"Am I right in assuming that you want me to fuck you like a whore tonight?"

Le Chiffre loosens the tie around his neck and Adam watches entranced.

 _Yes_ , he thinks, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants this man, this immaculate, controlled man, to pound into him like he's nothing more than a hole to use. Wants him to take and take and take, until Adam is a sobbing, writhing mess filled up to the brim with his cum.

He nods, his tongue too heavy inside his mouth to speak, and Le Chiffre moves away to pull one of the chairs to the foot of the bed. He sits down, legs crossed, and folds his hands in his lap.

“Undress.”

Adam does so without protest. He’s already so hard his slacks can barely contain his painful erection. His fingers slip twice on the silver buckle of his belt and he curses underneath his breath before it finally comes loose and he can pull the restricting garment off his hips and over his legs.

Le Chiffre raises a brow at his lack of underwear but doesn’t comment otherwise. He’s sitting in his chair still, one elbow on the armrest, two fingers pressed against his temple. He looks…calculating, as if he’s estimating the worth of a prized pig, as if Adam is nothing but a piece of meat.

Adam’s throat feels tight as he swallows a moan and pulls off the scarf around his neck. It joins his trousers on the floor, just like his polo-neck sweater and socks.

Naked, hard, his cock curving proudly upward and leaking, he stands before Le Chiffre. His pulse is racing and he can feel the blush spreading from his ears and neck down to his chest, over his whole body. Le Chiffre hasn't even touched him yet and still, Adam feels thoroughly used.

They size each other up in silence, sea-green eyes meeting gold and milky ones, and Adam starts to squirm on the spot, desperate to be touched. Finally, Le Chiffre shows mercy. He gets up in one fluid motion and slinks closer to Adam.

Instead of the heated touch Adam craves, he gets nothing but another long, appraising look as Le Chiffre circles him, drinking in the details of Adam’s body. At times he leans in so close Adam can feel his steady breath ghosting over his sensitive skin.

“The marks on your neck, how did you earn those?” he whispers.

It’s the last thing Adam has expected and quite frankly, he’s tempted to tell Le Chiffre that it’s none of his fucking business.

“I really like getting strangled while riding dick,” he says instead and shrugs.

That seems to be enough of an explanation for Le Chiffre as he continues his tortuously slow dance around Adam, never touching.

Adam pulls in air between his teeth and forces himself to stand still, like one would do when faced with a wild animal threatening to pounce. He scrunches up his nose at the unbidden thought. His editor would have kicked his ass for such a cheesy line. In his defence, he’s in no position that allows one to be particularly coherent, or able to formulate literary masterpieces. Not with his cock stiff and heavy between his legs, and Le Chiffre quite literally breathing down his neck.

He aches to be touched. Already, he considers to beg, to just fall down to his knees and plead with Le Chiffre to fuck him. There are, after all, little things he wouldn’t do to make sure he gets what he wants; and what’s a little display of submission when it ends with both of them curled around each other and Le Chiffre pounding his ass?

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as Le Chiffre reaches up and curls his fingers around Adam’s neck.

Whatever he has hoped for, it isn’t this. Immediately, panic floods his system, and with it resurfaces stubbornly suppressed memories: the feeling of leather around his neck, black stars dancing before his eyes, rough hands dragging him to his own bed. Adam gasps, the sound desperate, vulnerable, and his hands fly up to pry the fingers off his neck. The pressure around his throat is gone before he can fully lift his arms, and Adam is free once more. Le Chiffre is still close though, and his presence is just as suffocating as his hands.

“The truth now, Mr. Towers.”

Fuck him, Adam thinks, as he struggles to control his frantic breathing.

“Got assaulted and nearly choked to death,” he spits out, smiling through gritted teeth. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Le Chiffre is back in his seat in the blink of an eye, seemingly unaffected by Adam’s confession.

“A terrifying sensation, being unable to breath, isn’t it?” he asks, and Adam could swear there’s a hint of compassion in his voice. It’s gone as quickly as it came though, and Adam isn’t entirely sure he hasn’t just imagined it.

“The door to your right leads to a bathroom. Go take a shower, clean yourself, shave if necessary, and then return to me.”

Adam doesn’t move an inch.

“Were my instructions not clear enough, Mr. Towers?”

“You want me to shower?” Adam asks incredulously.

With an exasperated sigh, Le Chiffre laces his fingers together, disapproval written all over his face.

“Indeed, Mr. Towers. I prefer my whores to be clean.”

Adam’s cock gives an insistent twitch at Le Chiffre’s words, and before he can embarrass himself any further, he decides it is better to do what the man asks of him. He’s half-way through the door leading to the bathroom when Le Chiffre’s infatuating timbre makes him pause.

“Mr. Towers?”

Adam turns, throwing the man a look over his shoulder.

“You will not, under any circumstances, touch yourself while you’re in there. Should you fail to follow these instructions then there will be consequences, very unpleasant consequences. Understood?”

No sound passes Adam’s lips. Struck speechless as he is, he manages only a nod before he disappears through the door.

He takes his sweet time showering though. In parts because the shower is nothing short of spectacular — as spacious as his whole meagre bathroom at home, with a rain shower head big enough to fit two people under it — and in parts because Adam is a petty, vindictive little shit. Let Le Chiffre wait for him. It’s childish, but Adam can’t say he cares very much. He even goes so far as to finger himself under the warm spray of water, pushing first one, then two fingers inside his ass. Fuck what Le Chiffre said.

When he emerges from the shower, flushed all-over, his skin a soft pink and his hair dripping wet, he’s still hard, and it’s where Le Chiffre’s gaze falls first when Adam joins him in the bedroom once more. There’s approval shining in his one functioning eye and a spark of hunger that makes the fine hairs on Adam’s neck stand up.

He waves Adam over to where he’s sitting, not wasting a single word on the journalist. Adam follows, willing and oh so needy. Now he really wishes he would’ve gotten himself off at least once. Much to Adam’s chagrin, Le Chiffre has shown absolutely no desire to touch him and, as it seems, neither is he in any hurry to do so any time soon.

“Kneel,” Le Chiffre tells him, and Adam doesn’t hesitate before he falls down to his knees.

From this position, the prominent erection concealed by Le Chiffre’s slacks is more than obvious, and Adam swallows thickly, his mouth watering in anticipation.

Without waiting for permission he makes himself comfortable between Le Chiffre’s spread legs and presses his nose against the cloth-covered erection and — fuck, he smells so good. Musky, heady, entirely delicious, and it’s driving Adam to the brink of insanity. He wants, no, he needs to have that cock pushed down his throat. He needs to gag on it with spit and cum dripping down his chin. He needs Le Chiffre to come on the back of his tongue, or all over his face, right up to his hairline so that his unruly curls are splattered with it.

A chuckle from somewhere above him breaks Adam out of his depraved fantasies and he looks up to meet Le Chiffre’s piercing eyes.

“Your enthusiasm is certainly appreciated, Mr Towers, but I’d prefer it if my trousers remained unstained. Take them off.”

For a short-lived moment Adam considers giving him the finger, or even better, make him come inside his precious trousers. He could do it, he has done it before. There has yet to be a man who is not brought to his knees by Adam’s wicked tongue and hot mouth.

In the end, he gives Le Chiffre a coy smile and does as he has been told.

“Without the use of your hands, Mr. Towers,” Le Chiffre chides him as Adam prepares to open his fly.

Arsehole.

His hands fall uselessly to his sides and Adam inches forward until he can feel the soothing cold of a zipper against the curve of his mouth. It tastes metallic on his tongue when he sucks it between his teeth and, still, it pales in comparison to the overwhelming smell invading his nostrils as he pulls it down.

Even through his black — of course they’re black — silk boxers, Adam can smell Le Chiffre’s arousal. Adam swallows thickly. He wants to choke on it. He wastes no time getting them out of the way, tearing at the fabric with his teeth until Le Chiffre’s cock springs free.

Adam has to pause in reverence.

Le Chiffre's cock is a bloody piece of art, and Adam has to scrape together every bit of self-discipline he has left to not start drooling over the man’s crotch. His cock is every inch as long as he imagined, thick and curved, protruding from a nest of dark pubic hair.

Adam’s self-control goes only so far as he doesn’t immediately swallow it down like the greedy whore Le Chiffre no doubt thinks he is. No, he starts with a tentative lick over the engorged tip, the clear, sticky fluid oozing from it tasting like ambrosia on his tongue, and Adam shudders.

Just like him, Le Chiffre is uncircumcised, and Adam takes his sweet time to nibble on the soft expanse of his foreskin, earning himself a breathy growl in return. It’s the first sound Le Chiffre has made since he forbade Adam to use his hands. A sharp intake of breath that preordains another command, but Adam doesn’t plan on giving Le Chiffre the satisfaction.

This time there he doesn’t hesitate before sucking the whole impressive length into his mouth. He very nearly chokes when Le Chiffre trusts his hips upwards, but Adam is nothing if not determined. With a deep breath taken through his nose, he forces himself to relax and, slowly but surely, the hard length slides down his throat.

Le Chiffre allows him to set his own pace for a while, merely watching as Adam swallows around his cock, jaw and throat working to accommodate all of it. And then, Le Chiffre has had enough.

Fingers curl in Adam’s hair, gripping him tight and leaving him with hardly any room to navigate at all. Adam doesn’t need to, not when Le Chiffre starts to fuck his face with such hammering force it wouldn’t surprise Adam if it left him with a concussion.

He knows he’ll be sore for days - thank god he doesn’t have to conduct any interviews in the upcoming weeks — and Le Chiffre knows as well, Adam is sure. Drool drips down Adam’s chin, onto the pants Le Chiffre has insisted stay clean, and he shivers at the thought of the punishment that might await him later should the man notice.

His chest is heaving with the strain, his fingers clutch at the carpet underneath and he’s dizzy. Le Chiffre doesn’t care. Over and over he thrusts inside the willing mouth, using Adam’s messy curls as handles.

Adam feels like coming just from that.

All of the sudden, he can breath again, the hard cock slipping from his mouth as he’s pushed back none too gently. He blinks back the tears that have gathered in the corners of his eyes and looks up at

Le Chiffre. There is little else he can do with the man’s fingers fisted in his hair and forcing him to bare his neck like this.

“What the—?” he croaks, voice as raspy as he has feared.

Le Chiffre — apart from a fine sheen of sweat on his handsome face — looks little affected. If not for his hard, spit-slick cock standing proudly between his legs, Adam would have gone so far as to say he looks indifferent.

“Very impressive, Mr. Towers,” and there is a note of breathlessness after all. “You displayed a level of skill I’m sure required time, effort, and a lot of cocks to achieve. Bravo.”

God, what an absolute wanker.

Adam offers him another smile, all teeth and venom.

“Will you keep on talking like that, or are you going to fuck me? Because as I see it, I’ve done all the work so far. Makes me wonder if you even know how to use this,” he says, motioning for Le Chiffre’s cock with a tilt of his head.

To the man’s credit he doesn’t immediately get up, throws Adam on the bed (or floor) and fucks him like a man possessed. His masculinity is not so easily threatened, then. Adam can appreciate that. Too often he has had men who tried to prove their dominance by handling him like a bloody rag doll. Boring, unimaginative, hard to get off to.

Le Chiffre is different. He’s well-built, sure, but it’s obvious his strength lies not in the physical. It doesn’t need to. He’s a man used to giving commands and equally used to these commands being followed without question, in- and outside the bedroom.

So when Adam taunts him like he does, Le Chiffre remains calm, collected, the only indication he has heard Adam at all a heated glimmer in his one brown eye.

“Mr. Towers, what do you hope to achieve in questioning my masculinity?” he inquires. “If you wish to be fucked by me, then you only need ask, politely of course.”

Degradation, humiliation, and arousal rage in Adam’s blood, merging into one all-consuming sensation that leaves him trembling on his knees and his dick leaking onto the Persian carpet underneath.

“Please,” he grits out, the single world more of a curse than a plea.

Le Chiffre isn’t so easily swayed. “Please what, Mr. Towers?”

“Please fuck me.” Adam has to swallow down a moan, his throat raw and hurting with the motion. Le Chiffre is a fucking sadist and Adam couldn’t be more aroused. “From behind,” he adds after a moment, the words laden with unbridled lust. “Like a bitch in heat.”

The sudden tender caress to his cheek comes so entirely unexpected Adam very nearly recoils in surprise. Le Chiffre’s touch is cool, pleasantly so, and his fingertips are velvety soft as they brush along Adam’s skin. It’s the first time he has touched him at all.

“On the bed then, Mr. Towers. On your knees, with your ass up and your head down. Is that understood?”

Adam nods frantically and scrambles toward the bed, naked as he is. Forgotten is his pride, forgotten his intention to make Le Chiffre work for it. He wants that cock inside him and he wants it now.

The mattress dips underneath his weight as he gets in position — on hands and knees like requested — and wriggles his ass in a way he hopes is enticing. A soft chuckle from Le Chiffre is the reward for his efforts and Adam turns his head to look at him.

“Please,” he forces out between clenched teeth, and this time Le Chiffre shows mercy.

He gets up, cock still hard between his legs, and saunters over to where Adam is lying. The sight of him still fully dressed except for his dick hanging from the open fly of his dress pants is utterly obscene, and Adam can feel his neglected hole twitch in anticipation.

Realisation finally hits him when Le Chiffre pulls an inconspicuous little sachet from his breast pocket and tears the wrapper open with a faint rasping noise: he’s going to fuck Adam fully dressed.

Deft hands pull Adam to the edge of the bed, against the rock hard erection still slick with his own saliva. The fabric of Le Chiffre’s pants feels silky against the back of his thighs, but will burn like hell should Le Chiffre fuck Adam with them still on.

“I will take you raw, Mr. Towers,” he warns Adam; and is it really a warning, or a cruel promise he’s making that he knows only Adam can appreciate? No matter his intention, he rolls the condom over his cock with practised ease and throws the empty wrapper aside. It lands somewhere between the pristine white sheets and Adam throws it a quick glance. No brand he recognises, but it’s of the lubricated variety.

Fuck, Adam thinks, _fuck_ and nothing else.

Le Chiffre rubs himself against Adam, his hands spreading the round cheeks to look at the small, twitching hole with moderate interest.

Adam wants to scream. The slow, insistent drag of Le Chiffre’s cock against the cleft of his ass is nothing short of excruciating, and despite his prior claims, he doesn’t push in immediately. Instead, he takes his sweet time teasing Adam, his cock nudging against his opening without ever breeching the tight ring of muscles.

“Fuck me already!” Adam cries out after what feels like an eternity of prolonged torture.

And then Le Chiffre pushes in, one quick powerful thrust that sends Adam sliding forward on the bed.

“Are you glad now?” Le Chiffre asks, and laughs when nothing but incoherent grunts spill from Adam’s lips. “Glad that you have fingered yourself in the shower?”

Adam’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t want to think about the hows and whys of Le Chiffre knowing what he has been up to behind closed doors. Doesn’t want to think about hidden cameras, or about Le Chiffre watching him in the shower. The pain helps a little. It’s hard concentrating on something as trivial as surveillance cameras with a huge cock rammed up your ass like that, after all.

“You should have obeyed me, Mr. Towers.” Le Chiffre’s all too collected voice echoes from somewhere above him, silky-smooth and tantalising. “Then I would’ve prepared you properly, gently even, but you decided to ignore my warnings. You have only yourself to blame.”

A scream crawls its way up Adam’s throat and he howls into one of the pillows, tears clinging to his lashes. And worst of all, he’s still hard. He wants the pain just as much as the pleasure. The whole of his body burns, every thrust of Le Chiffre’s sending him into wanton frenzy. Adam feels so fucking full, the cock inside him threatening to rip him apart at any given moment. God, he wants more.

Only when Le Chiffre’s soft chuckle washes over him does he realise that he’s rolling his hips, meeting every move of the other man with one his own. A spike of anger pierces through the lusty fog clouding his brain, and he grits his teeth in frustration. How can Le Chiffre be so calm still, so composed, while Adam threatens to come apart at the seams with every drag of that cock over his prostate?

“Four more minutes and twenty-seven seconds until you come, if my calculations are correct.” Le Chiffre leans in close, his broad chest pressing against Adam’s sweaty back, his breath curling around his earlobe before sharp teeth sink into the sensitive flesh. “And my calculations are always correct, Mr. Towers.”

_What the hell…_

Adam is given no time to process Le Chiffre’s words. He’s too busy getting fucked raw by the man’s cock to think much about anything anyway. Really, he can’t remember the last time he has been taken so thoroughly, every thrust hitting his prostate spot on. Other men have fucked him with comparable strength, but never with such brutal precision.

Heat curls in his lower belly, drawing tighter with each of Le Chiffre's thrusts. Adam moans - as much an encouragement as an honest, overwhelmed expression of pleasure - and Le Chiffre answers with a shaky breath of his own.

The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin paired with Adam's own wanton cries echo through the room, bounce off the walls and swells up to an obscene crescendo that reaches its peak when Le Chiffre delivers another punishing thrust, and a howling scream tears itself from Adam's abused throat.

Le Chiffre's hands move from his shoulders to his back and down to his sweat-slick hips where he holds onto for more leverage, his nails digging into the soft skin. They will leave scars, and Adam shudders at the thought of crescent-shaped marks left all over his body, covering his smooth skin in an obvious signs of ownership.

God, he's so close to coming it hurts. Never before has he been so desperate to come and so utterly helpless to do anything about it. He's not bound, he's not shackled, yet he doesn't dare to fist his cock and jerk himself off in fear of rousing Le Chiffre's anger.

He should do it. If just to annoy Le Chiffre and prove his ridiculous calculation wrong. He doesn't. Instead, he arches his back and lifts his hips even higher in a desperate attempt to increase the friction on his prostate. It isn't enough.

"Would you like to come now, Mr. Towers?" Le Chiffre whispers into his ear, the whole length of his body pressing against Adam's back.

_Yes, God. Yes!_

Adam nods frantically and clenches around the cock inside him.

"Please!"

He can feel Le Chiffre pulling out and Adam whines, shifting back to keep the stiff length inside him just a little longer.

Le Chiffre laughs, grabs him by the chin and turns his head, so he can press a bruising kiss onto Adam's lips at the same time he thrusts back inside him with such force the bed collides with the wall with a thundering crack.

Adam screams into the kiss and comes all over himself and the sheets.

Fuck, he thinks, while Le Chiffre continues to thrust into him, the pretentious arse was right. Couldn't have been more than four minutes until his orgasm.

He's only half conscious when Le Chiffre reaches his climax, and his last thought before the world goes black is how much he would have liked Le Chiffre to fill him up with his cum. Maybe next time.

Insistent rapping on the door is what awakens him hours later, and Adam groans. He blinks his eyes open, the bright light coming in through the big windows anything but welcome, and  a fresh wave of pain surges through him as he attempts to roll out of bed. The last night has left its marks, it seems; his ass hurts like hell for one, and his throat is sore. When he finally comes to stand on wobbly legs, he realises that he's alone. Le Chiffre is gone and his side of the bed is cold.

Adam can't say he's particularly surprised. Le Chiffre hasn't struck him as a man prone to sentimentality - which staying with your one-night-stand until morning for breakfast and a shared shower definitely qualifies as. Yet, he can't quite suppress the pang of disappointment at seeing the spot next to him empty.

Another knock interrupts his pointless musing, and he goes to open the door, wrapped up in one of the bed sheets.

"Listen, I'll be gone in a minute, just-" he comes to a stuttering halt, blinking owlishly at the young man on the other side of the door.

He doesn't look like the cleaning staff charged with kicking him out of the room he hasn't paid for in the most polite way possible, so to avoid Adam making a fuss. Now, he does belong to the hotel staff, that much is obvious from the black and ironed uniform he's wearing, but he's not here to make sure Adam is out of this suite in the next thirty minutes.

Before Adam can protest he squeezes himself into the small space between the door and Adam, pushing a small trolley loaded with fresh fruit, fried eggs, bread rolls and cheese.

"Breakfast, Sir. As requested."

"Breakfast?" Adam echoes, watching mystified as the boy - he can't be older than 20 - rolls the trolley over to the seating area. "I didn't order anything."

The boy turns and raises an immaculate brow. Adam isn't sure if it's due to his bewilderment or his state of undress. Probably both. "On Mr. Le Chiffre's request."

It's obvious he finds Adam's confusion amusing, but is too polite to say anything. Instead, he hands Adam a small envelope. "If you need anything, Sir, don't hesitate to ring."

He excuses himself with a curt nod and closes the doors behind him, leaving Adam all alone with his jumbled thoughts.

Completely lost, with nothing but a blanket around his hips, Adam eyes the envelope. It feels impossibly heavy and he turns it over in his hand a few times before working up the courage to tear it open.

The handwriting that greets him is neat, elegant, though a bit too casual to be considered true Spencerian. It’s…charming.  


_Mr. Towers,_

_I have to apologize for leaving so abruptly, but some matters that can not be ignored have arisen and demand my attention._

_Feel free to enjoy the comforts the suite provides as long as it pleases you. I'm sure the night has taken its toll on your body (For that I do not apologize) and now some relaxation is in order._

_The hotel staff has been instructed to indulge your every whim. I trust you not to abuse that privilege._

_Until we meet again,_

_J._  


Adam grins so wide, his cheeks hurt, and he shakes his head in disbelief before laughter spills from his mouth like water from a mountain spring.

That insolent, unbelievable, magnificent bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! (For now!)  
> Please scream at me in the comments and tell me what you think :D
> 
> Or find me on twitter: [StaticRaining](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)  
> And on tumblr: [StaticRaining](http://staticraining.tumblr.com)


	2. Sunseeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now, Mr. Le Chiffre, let's start with an easy one: What business has a banker and four-time European poker championship winner in New York City? There are currently no tournaments big enough to pique your interest and I’m not convinced that the pompous and conceited high-society of this city is a clientele worth having."
> 
> Le Chiffre smiles, the motion slow, almost lazy, yet full of barely suppressed danger. “Who says I’m merely here for business?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the second chapter of my little Royale Instinct adventure! This took me so long, wow. I'm sorry, guys.
> 
> A super huge thank you to [Supastag](http://archiveofourown.org/users/findo) for betaing this, you're the best!
> 
> And another thank you to the insanely talented [Camille](http://nsfwingrotten.tumblr.com/) for illustrating this chapter! Check out her (super duper NSFW) [fanart](http://nsfwingrotten.tumblr.com/post/150495987083/chapter-2-of-staticraining-four-minutes), guys!

After his pleasurable yet depraved encounter with Le Chiffre he’s sore for days, just as he had predicted. It’s not too bad, only his abused throat proves to be a minor inconvenience. Even the shortest of sentences is a challenge for his vocal cords and Adam decides that the wisest choice is to avoid leaving his flat and only answer the phone if absolutely necessary.  
  
At least he can still write, albeit not in a sitting position thanks to his ass hurting like hell. And yet he can’t bring himself to mind too much. It’s a welcome reminder of the night he and Le Chiffre shared with each other. So Adam relishes the sting shooting up his spine whenever he moves too carelessly.  
  
And because he’s incorrigibly curious — some would even go so far as to call him nosy — Adam puts his abilities as a journalist to good use and collects as much information on the man as he can. Which, as it turns out, isn’t much at all.  
  
If one were to believe the few tidbits of information available then Le Chiffre is some sort of banker for the rich and obnoxious, entrusted with their money and tasked with investing it for their, and by extension his own, gain.  
  
Other than that, not much is known about him. No family ties, no real name, not even a date of birth. All Adam can dig up are a few mentions in articles about poker and chess tournaments. A player then, and an extremely successful one judging from the numerous lists of winners he leads.  
  
The unusual name that first roused Adam’s interest makes a lot more sense now, but it fails to explain the handwritten note signed with the letter ‘J’ which Adam got into the habit of carrying around in his pocket. He wonders if it’s an actual hint at Le Chiffre’s real name, or just one of the pointless whims that are so common in men of higher standing, prone to eccentricity.  
  
Not to mention the content of the note itself. As controlling and cold as Le Chiffre has been with Adam in his bed, the note is almost apologetic in tone. Kind and with an underlying playfulness Adam can’t quite reconcile with the reserved businessman who introduced himself in the hotel ballroom.  
  
Even more frustrating than the lack of personal information is the lack of valid contact information. It’s downright impossible to track Le Chiffre down. Nowhere can Adam find a business address or a phone number. He goes so far as to call several of his contacts to enquire about the elusive Le Chiffre but the majority have never heard of him and the few who have are as clueless to the means of contacting him as Adam.  
  
The general consensus is that one does not contact Le Chiffre, Le Chiffre contacts you, and Adam has to roll his eyes at that. What is this man? A supervillain?  
  
As is so often the case, sheer luck gets Adam what he wants after three days of unsuccessful research: his ‘benefactor’, who invited him to the party in the first place, calls.  
  
Adam’s throat has healed enough for him to hold a proper conversation and he decides to take the unexpected call. The man shouldn’t even have his private number and he picks up only because he doesn’t immediately recognise the caller ID flashing insistently on the display.  
  
“Adam,” echoes the voice, slightly distorted due to the subpar line, and Adam has to swallow a groan.  
  
His first name again. How rude. He squeezes the phone between shoulder and cheek, eyes still on the article he wanted to have been done with hours ago.  
  
“Who’s there?” he asks, partly because he still can’t remember the man’s name and because he shouldn’t have Adam’s number in the first place.  
  
“Oh right, sorry. It’s Preston Chase here, you know, from Chase Industries.”  
  
Adam clicks his tongue, feigning recognition. “Mr. Chase.” He makes sure to stress the formal form of address. “My apologies, I didn’t recognise the number. How did you get mine?”  
  
His voice is saccharine sweet and Chase stumbles over his words in his haste to sate Adam’s curiosity.  
  
“Your secretary gave it to me,” he explains, smug satisfaction reverberating in every syllable.  
  
_Goddammit, Linda._  
  
Adam swallows another grumble and shifts on the couch, his muscles protesting sharply at every movement.  
  
“Is that so?” he purrs.  
  
He’s tempted to just hang up and not waste another second with the Chase heir, but as much as he despises the man, he’s too valuable a contact to scorn.  
  
“You were gone so suddenly, just when I wanted to introduce you to my friends.”  
  
Adam scrunches up his nose in disgust. Introduce? All he wanted to do was show Adam off, convinced he’d get to fuck him later that night and eager to make sure everybody knew.  
  
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t even try to sound sincere or convincing. “I got lost in the crowd somehow. Wouldn’t have found the exit if not for one gentleman taking pity on me.”  
  
“Le Chiffre,” Chase provides. It’s remarkable how he manages to convey both awe and animosity with just these two words spat out so viciously, Adam has to give him that.  
  
“Yes,” he agrees. “Quite the character isn’t he?”  
  
Chase would have loved to argue that estimation, it’s obvious in the way his breath rumbles through the buzzing line, making him sound like a particularly petulant child when he answers.  
  
“I guess. He’s my father’s banker.”  
  
And that piques Adam’s interest. He sits up straight in his seat, biting down on his tongue when the careless move causes another fresh wave of pain.  
  
“Really?” he hisses through clenched teeth. “How did your father end up with a banker like him?”  
  
Chase confuses his sudden interest with interest in _him_ , a mistake men with not enough intelligence or talent to justify their inflated egos often make, and Adam can practically hear the prideful swell of Chase’s chest as he replies.  
  
“My family’s old money.” And that’s utter bullshit. No American family is from old money. “Le Chiffre offered to manage my father’s funds.”  
  
With the way he phrases it, it’s clear Chase wants to make it sound as if his family did Le Chiffre a favour. No doubt it has been the other way around. Little as Adam knows about Le Chiffre’s work, it’s something all his sources can agree on: he’s worth his money and more.  
  
“Is that so? Because I couldn’t find anything on how to contact him, not even a website, no phone number, nothing.”  
  
The implied question hangs heavily between them and Adam gnaws on his lower lip as he waits for an answer. It’s a bit of a gamble, he’s aware. Chase wants to please him, wants to impress Adam in any way he can and knows there’s not much he can achieve that with. At the same time, he doesn’t handle not being the centre of attention very well and Adam’s interest in Le Chiffre is something he doesn’t want to indulge any more than necessary.  
  
Adam takes a deep breath, the dismissive ‘Never mind’ already on the tip of his tongue when Chase breaks.  
  
“I can arrange a meeting if you like.”  
  
Of course Adam would like that, but he makes sure to sound a little hesitant, a little shy, when he answers. “Really? I mean— I don’t want you to put yourself out on my account.”  
  
Chase is quick to placate him. “It’s no problem.”  
  
Adam smiles and lets satisfaction colour his voice as he answers. “I’d appreciate it immensely. I owe you, Mr. Chase.”  
  
“It’s Preston, please. How about you make it up to me next week? We could have dinner together.”  
  
“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t promise anything just yet. I don’t want to risk giving you the flu. But as soon as I’m better, I’ll take you up on that offer.”  
  
Chase swallows the lame excuse, too ecstatic over the prospect of a date with Adam to question his alleged illness.  
  
He ends the call after another promise from Chase to have Le Chiffre contact him and leans back against the sofa cushions, a grin curling the corners of his mouth. Life couldn’t be any better.  
  
—  
  
After another two weeks of no calls from either Chase or Le Chiffre, Adam’s enthusiasm has diminished considerably. He shouldn’t be surprised, he admonishes himself as he fumbles with his keys. Chase is an idiot after all and Le Chiffre will have better things to do than pander to the whims of a spoiled man-child.  
  
Once Adam has managed to turn the key in the lock he kicks the door open with a frustrated huff and steps into his dark two-room flat. It’s not quite home - that will always be London - but it feels a little more like it with every passing day.

Looking back now, Adam has to admit that it was a foolish and impulsive decision to leave his home city for The Big Apple. But at the time Adam couldn’t endure the familiar walls of his flat anymore. Every brick and stone was just too painful a reminder of what had happened to him in the safety of his own home.

In the beginning, he told himself it was for his career, a step forward on his long way towards international recognition as a journalist. Now he knows it was just an easy way to run away from the painful memories, away from those nights when he would wake up with the feeling of hands around his neck and sweat running down his face.

Arms full of grocery bags, Adam makes a beeline for the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights. It hasn’t been long since he felt comfortable enough to do that. After the unfortunate incident back in London he had a hard time sleeping with the lights off — like a damn toddler. So being able to move freely through his own place, even in the dark, feels like a victory. A big, fat ‘screw you’ to the arsehole that tried, quite literally, to squeeze the life out of him.  
  
His neck is another story altogether. The marks faded a long time ago and he is lucky that Glass didn’t manage to crush his larynx, but he hadn’t been able to breathe properly for weeks and took to wearing his silk scarves and turtle-neck sweaters even more than usual.  
  
Adam banishes the unpleasant memories with a determined shake of his head. Too bad he stopped smoking months ago. A fag would have been lovely right about now. Adam makes do with a glass of wine instead, the liquid near black in the moonlight shining through the small kitchen window.  
  
With the keys jingling as he spins them lazily between his fingers Adam saunters back into the living room and immediately drops his glass of wine.  
  
It shatters with a resounding crack. The shards rain down on his hardwood floor, wine splashes everywhere and seeps into his socks. Adam doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy staring at the man sitting on his cosy sofa, his sleek form illuminated only by the reading lamp standing on the side table.  
  
Le Chiffre — and fuck him for that — looks even more attractive than when they first met. Dressed in black pants and a no doubt tailored button-down, his jacket neatly folded and put next to him on the couch, he looks right at home. He’s even wearing a pair of reading glasses and his eyes are trained on a tablet in his hand.  
  
“You fucking creep!” Adam acts on impulse when he throws his keys at Le Chiffre’s face.  
  
He catches them with ease, of course he does, and Adam wishes he hadn’t dropped his glass. Overly dramatic or not, he would have loved to empty its contents in Le Chiffre’s lap.  
  
“Good evening, Mr. Towers,” Le Chiffre greets him and puts the tablet aside.  
  
Even through his glasses, his gaze is threatening in its intensity, piercing Adam right to his core.  
  
“Why the bloody hell are you in my flat?” Adam blurts out, his left eye twitching in annoyance.  
  
“I was under the impression that you enjoyed my presence, given your extensive research on my person and Mr. Chase’s insistence on me meeting you. Am I correct in assuming he acted on your behalf?”  
  
“You were what? No, wait. What do you mean my extensive research?” Adam is brimming with hardly suppressed rage, but curiosity is getting the better of him. How does Le Chiffre know?  
  
Please, Mr. Towers, don’t insult my intelligence. You went to great lengths to find out more about me and how to contact me. One could go so far as to accuse you of snooping. Not that I would ever imply such a thing.”  
  
When Adam stares in silent mortification, Le Chiffre sighs, uncrosses his legs and takes his glasses off.  
  
“You should probably wipe up the wine before it seeps into the wood floor.”  
  
Right. Adam shakes his head, breaking out of his stupefied paralysis and stomps back into the kitchen to get a damp cloth and a towel.  
  
Le Chiffre watches as Adam rubs at the wine stains, down on his hands and knees. The fucker probably enjoys the sight too. When all traces of wine and the sad remains of his expensive glass are gone, Adam plants himself in front of the other, hands on his hips.  
  
The surreality of the situation is so overwhelmingly complete, Adam is actually calm. Any minute now, he’ll wake up and realise all of this has been a particularly disconcerting dream.  
  
But he doesn’t wake up and Le Chiffre doesn’t dissolve into thin air.  
  
“You broke into my goddamn flat!” he finally snaps.  
  
“You were looking for me. Here I am. I must admit, I had hoped for a warmer reception.”  
  
Adam swallows the curse lying on the tip of his tongue. “You broke into my flat,” he repeats, sounding like a broken record.  
  
“And you set Chase on me. I think that makes us even.” Le Chiffre counters. His lips curl in obvious disgust at the mention of the Chase heir and Adam laughs.  
  
“I see you find him as distasteful as I do.”  
  
Le Chiffre doesn’t deny it. “He was very eager, overly so, to invite me to lunch. He kept talking about a friend of his who was just dying to meet me. Does that sound familiar, Mr. Towers?”  
  
“I wasn’t exactly _dying_ ,” Adam mumbles and lowers his head to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks. “And he’s not my friend,” he’s quick to add.  
  
“I didn’t think so. Clearly, you have better taste in men than that.”  
  
Adam arches a brow, amused despite his anger. “Complimenting me and stroking your ego at the same time?”  
  
To Le Chiffre’s credit, he doesn’t try to deny it. “I’m a man acutely aware of my own worth. At times, people confuse that with arrogance.”  
  
“And I’m sure it has _nothing_ to do with arrogance,” Adam drawls.  
  
He doesn’t wait for a reply but heads back to the kitchen to get himself a new glass of wine — he sure as hell needs it — and hesitates only for a heartbeat before he grabs two glasses instead, together with the whole bottle of wine.  
  
Le Chiffre sure as hell doesn’t deserve it, but his inner Brit bristles at the prospect of enjoying a glass in front of a guest — no matter how unexpected or unwelcome — without offering one to him as well.  
  
“Care to have a glass with me? Or is the wine too plebeian for your refined palate?” he asks as he emerges from the kitchen, glasses in one hand, the other holding out the bottle for Le Chiffre to scrutinise.  
  
He studies the label carefully — Adam suspects he does it mostly for show and to annoy him — before he conveys his approval with a curt nod.  
  
“It will do.”  
  
Adam rolls his eyes, but flops down next to him and fills up their glasses nonetheless.  
  
“Cheers,” he says and downs his in a single swig.  
  
Le Chiffre looks downright scandalised, but Adam can’t bring himself to care. After all, he just came home to the man who fucked him like an animal sitting on his couch and reading on a tablet as if he owned the place. Nobody can blame Adam for wanting to calm his frayed nerves with alcohol.  
  
In contrast, Le Chiffre sips his wine with pointed leisure, watching Adam over the rim of his glass before he sets it down on the side table. Adam is certain the wine is far below Le Chiffre’s usual standard, but shitty wine serves him right for being a total arse.  
  
“So,” Adam begins, his voice a little less hysterical now the initial shock of finding Le Chiffre sitting in his living room has worn off. “Missed me so much you had to break into my flat?”  
  
Le Chiffre arches a brow, the ghost of a smile playing around the edges of his sensual mouth. “Need I remind you that you were the one desperate to secure a date with me?”  
  
Adam shrugs, confident that the flush from the wine covers the blush on his cheeks. “Need I remind you that you were the one desperate enough to break into my bloody flat? At least I didn’t try to do _that_.”  
  
He turns in his seat so that he can face Le Chiffre, one arm propped up on the sofa’s backrest, his fingers playing with his unruly curls.  
  
There’s appreciation shimmering in Le Chiffre’s golden eye as he takes in Adam’s flirtatious display but he doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to touch him.  
  
“I would have liked to see you try though, considering that my yacht is currently lying at anchor ten miles out from New York Harbor.”  
  
“A yacht?” Adam echoes in disbelief. That certainly takes pretentiousness to a whole new level, even though Adam can’t say he’s particularly surprised.  
  
“You seem amused, Mr. Towers.”  
  
“Because I am,“ Adam admits. “You already got me into your bed. No need to try and impress me now.”  
  
“Maybe I try because I’d like to have you in my bed once more.”  
  
The lazy curl of Adam’s mouth widens into an actual smile. “In that case, I’d advise you to try some more.”  
  
“You don’t strike me as a man who can be bought with expensive gifts or displays of material wealth.”  
  
“You’re right. But it doesn’t mean I can’t be bought at all.”  
  
To be honest, the promise of Le Chiffre’s cock fucking him open once more would be enough to lure Adam back into his bed, but he’s nothing if not resourceful.  
  
“What is it you want, Mr Towers?”  
  
The playful edge in these words is not lost on Adam and he suspects Le Chiffre is merely indulging him, fully aware that Adam is merely playing hard to get.  
  
“The only thing worth having of course: knowledge.”  
  
Momentary surprise flickers across Le Chiffre’s handsome face, but he’s quick to regain control and looks at Adam with a newfound respect burning in his eyes.  
  
“Knowledge of what?” he asks.  
  
“Of whom,” Adam corrects and tilts his head. “You’re very interesting, Mr. Le Chiffre, but my research only got me so far. I want to know more about the man sitting in front of me.”  
  
“Is this professional or personal curiosity, Mr. Towers?”  
  
Adam chuckles and pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, biting down onto the tender flesh until it’s red and swollen before running the tip of the tongue over it.  
  
“Yes, I think, is the answer to that.”  
  
He’s fully aware of his own unhealthy predilection for danger and the never-ending curiosity that has got him into trouble on more than one occasion. And Le Chiffre is undeniably dangerous, more so than an ordinary banker has any right to be. It makes Adam’s fingers itch with the desire to write about him and his hole twitch at the thought of having Le Chiffre’s cock in him again.  
  
“Is this how you conduct all your interviews? Paying your clients with your body?” Le Chiffre asks.  
  
“Only if they look like you,” Adam shoots back. “I’m an excellent journalist and a very good businessman. If I can get an orgasm on top of some valuable information, I won’t complain.”  
  
Le Chiffre leans back in his seat, the epitome of professionalism once more, and folds his hands over his lap.  
  
“How far are you willing to go for the knowledge you crave?”  
  
Adam raises a brow. “Are you asking me how kinky I’m willing to get in bed?”  
  
Le Chiffre doesn’t bat an eye. “Yes.”  
  
A promising story got Adam into the rather unpleasant situation of almost getting choked to death, yet it didn’t hinder him from monetising it. He’d say there were very few things he wouldn’t do in or out of bed considering that.  
  
“Keep your hands off my neck and we’re fine.”  
  
Pale lashes cast soft shadows on sharp cheekbones as Le Chiffre inclines his head in answer. “Noted. I would like to invite you onto my yacht."  
  
"To fuck?" Adam asks bluntly, arousal already spreading in his stomach at the prospect of Le Chiffre's cock inside him once again.  
  
The other smiles, a soft, barely noticeable thing, and uncrosses his legs before he gets up from the couch. "Amongst other things."  
  
"Colour me intrigued," Adam replies and mirrors the movement, coming to stand closer to Le Chiffre than strictly necessary.  
  
He licks his lips, the tip of his pink tongue peeking out and catching Le Chiffre's attention, just as Adam intended.  
  
Le Chiffre's self-control is impressive. His eyes may be glued to Adam's subtly obscene display, but his breath doesn't hitch and he doesn't falter when he makes his way to the front door.  
  
"Just a few instructions I'd implore you to follow before we depart, Mr. Towers," he says when he turns around one last time, entirely too secure in his knowledge that Adam will adhere to his wishes and whims without question.  
  
"Shower and shave beforehand. No aftershave. Dress comfortably, but forgo underwear." Le Chiffre pauses and gives Adam a look that’s equal parts mischief and approval. "Not that you bothered with it today."  
  
Adam shrugs. It's his home and if he wants to run around in nothing but a pair of loose pants because he has plans to fuck himself on a plug later that evening, then it’s none of the man's business.  
  
"I also want you to think of a word to use."  
  
Adam raises a brow. "A safeword?"  
  
"Yes," Le Chiffre confirms as he makes his way out of Adam's flat, suit jacket tucked underneath his arm, looking all too collected for someone who has just started to discuss proper BDSM etiquette with Adam in the middle of a doorway.  
  
Nonetheless, his insistence on a safeword is touching, even if it wouldn't be Adam's first time mixing pleasure with pain.  
  
Adam leans against his doorframe, arms crossed over his shoulders as he grins up at Le Chiffre. "Alright, Mr. Grey, give me a call and then we can discuss the details."  
  
He doesn't wait to see if Le Chiffre appreciates his admittedly horrible reference before he lets the door fall shut into the man's face. Call it petty revenge for breaking into his flat and acting like it was the most natural thing in the world. He's sure Le Chiffre is secure enough in his own ego to cope.  
  
—  
  
More of Le Chiffre’s instructions arrive at Adam’s place a few days later, in the form of a sleek, black box accompanied by a neatly written note.  
  
_Tomorrow, 8pm. My driver will fetch you. Please, consider dressing in what I have picked out for you,_ Adam reads, his fingertips brushing over eggshell-coloured paper. The note is short and to the point, but Adam doesn’t fail to notice that Le Chiffre is giving him a choice, at least concerning his wardrobe. It’s almost sweet.  
  
Neatly folded inside the box Adam finds a whole elegant ensemble: an ironed dress shirt and a pair of sharply cut trousers, a jacket and braces, even socks, shoes and a lovely pair of cufflinks, gleaming like a galaxy in the dim light of his flat.  
  
In all honesty, Adam expected an assortment of sex toys and not what’s clearly a bespoke suit. He’s both pleasantly surprised and a little disappointed.  
  
The suit is beautiful though, hugging his figure tightly and giving him an aura of old-world sophistication so different from his usual smug disposition and the way he presents himself to the world. Though he wouldn’t have minded wearing a plug underneath it all, if only Le Chiffre had been so kind to include one with his present. A shame.  
  
As promised, when Friday evening arrives, his doorbell rings at 8pm sharp. Adam makes his way downstairs and greets the driver already waiting for him with a playful smile and a flutter of his lashes.  
  
Le Chiffre, the conceited drama queen, thought it fitting to have him picked up in an Aston Martin. At least it’s no limousine and Adam can’t help but be pleased with Le Chiffre for choosing a British manufacturer.  
  
They drive in silence; Adam gave up on chatting with the taciturn driver after he got nothing but irritated grunts in return to his harmless questions. Instead, he checks if the batteries of his dictaphone are still charged and skims through the mental catalogue of questions he wants to ask Le Chiffre. Some of them more professional than others.  
  
Preoccupied like this, the drive comes to an end sooner than he expected and he suddenly finds himself face to face with the grumpy driver who holds the car door open for him, obviously impatient to have Adam step out of the car. He’s quick to do so and even offers a small smile as an apology.  
  
“Mr. Towers.”  
  
It’s not Le Chiffre’s pronounced voice that greets him but the accent is similar.  
  
The man approaching him, one hand extended to grab Adam’s own in welcome, looks nothing like Le Chiffre either. He’s what Adam would describe as tall, dark and handsome but he lacks the overwhelming presence Le Chiffre calls his own.  
  
Adam shakes the offered hand nonetheless and inclines his head. “Indeed, but with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”  
  
“I’m Le Chiffre’s personal assistant. You may call me Kratt. I’m here to welcome you on board the Ademaj. Usually I’d have to ask you to hand me all electronic devices and firearms you carry with you, but Le Chiffre assured me that wouldn’t be necessary.”  
  
It’s a not so subtle warning and a sharp reminder of the danger Adam willingly put himself into when he accepted Le Chiffre’s invitation. And still, it sends a jolt of pleasure tingling down his spine.  
  
“Please, follow me, Mr. Towers.”  
  
Adam does so without protest.  
  
There is no other way to put it: the Sunseeker Predator Le Chiffre lives on is stunningly beautiful, no matter how pretentious. A huge, luxurious yacht, offering every comfort man could imagine or desire.  
  
He can’t help but whistle in open appreciation as Kratt leads him through what has to be the living area, even though it’s bigger than all of the rooms in his flat combined.  
  
His trained eye immediately spots all the minuscule details that speak of Le Chiffre’s elusive person: There’s a chess set cut from black and white marble resting on a heavy mahogany table, the pieces positioned in a move Adam doesn’t recognise. In another corner, he spies a box of Cohiba Behikes, neatly arranged on a shelf but entirely untouched. A former smoker perhaps?  
  
Adam is not one to be easily impressed by superficial displays of affluence, but he can recognise when a man has good taste. And, oh, does Le Chiffre have it. It’s visible in every corner of his floating residence. Even the sunlight shining through the floor-length windows appears just a little brighter than the light which breaks through the dusty windows of his own flat.  
  
“I see you have made yourself familiar with my home already.”  
  
With a smile playing around his lips, Adam turns and takes in the striking figure that is Le Chiffre. He has forgone the suit for the evening, exchanging it for a simple pair of tailored trousers, a white shirt and black braces. The whole assembly is casual, or as casual as Le Chiffre knows how to be, but it does nothing to diminish the aura of superiority that surrounds the man. It makes Adam weak in the knees.  
  
“So I had to dress up in a suit, but you are allowed the casual day look?”  
  
Le Chiffre returns Adam’s smile. “I gave you a choice, didn’t I, Mr. Towers?” He pauses to seize Adam up, approval visible in every flicker of his eyes. “I must say, you look quite dashing in a suit. And it fits the occasion. This is business after all, isn’t it?”  
  
“I thought of it more as a game to be quite honest. A game where nobody loses.”  
  
As Adam moves closer, the heels of his polished Oxfords making no sound on the charcoal grey carpet, he lets his fingers glide over the shiny surface of the dining table in the middle of the room.  
  
“Where is the thrill in that?” Le Chiffre counters as he watches Adam’s approach.  
  
“Sounds like something a sore loser would say,” Adam teases. He’s close enough to smell the other man’s aftershave by now. It’s the same one he wore during their first encounter and the most primal part of Adam’s brain immediately associates it with sex and carnal pleasure. A spark of hunger ignites in his guts, a depraved Pavlovian reaction triggered by the scent of the man who has used him so thoroughly, so expertly.  
  
“I am,” Le Chiffre admits. “Which is why I make it a habit to never lose.”  
  
He walks over to a pair of armchairs standing by an unlit fireplace and puts one hand on the fine leather backrest while beckoning Adam closer with the other.  
  
“Please sit down, Mr. Towers. I’m sure you have questions.”  
  
This is, Adam realises, a game just as much as it is business and, for Le Chiffre, one does not necessarily exclude the other. This is his very own brand of foreplay. To his own surprise, Adam quite likes it. Few men exhibit the absolute confidence needed to appear dignified rather than pretentious when they display their wealth and status to the world like Le Chiffre does.  
  
Adam sinks into the cushions with a content purr and takes the tumbler filled with golden whisky Le Chiffre offers him with a gracious nod. It slides down his throat like liquid velvet. For a moment, he indulges in the pleasant feeling, enjoys the slight burn of the alcohol before he puts the glass aside.

This is not what he came here for, after all, and Adam would rather not dull his senses when he wants to feel Le Chiffre completely and entirely.  
  
With practised ease, he fishes the handy dictaphone out of his inner breast pocket and places it on the side table, already recording.  
  
Le Chiffre, who has made himself comfortable across Adam, cocks a brow but doesn’t comment otherwise.  
  
“Now, Mr. Le Chiffre, let's start with an easy one: What business has a banker and four-time European poker championship winner in New York City? There are currently no tournaments big enough to pique your interest and I’m not convinced that the pompous and conceited high-society of this city is a clientele worth having.”  
  
Le Chiffre smiles, the motion slow, almost lazy, yet full of barely suppressed danger. “Who says I’m merely here for business?”  
  
“Why else would you be here?” Adam is quick to argue. “You don’t strike me as a man who spends his precious and no doubt rare free time playing the social butterfly.”  
  
“No,” Le Chiffre admits freely, “I spend my free time fucking cheeky journalists who are too curious for their own good.”  
  
Adam laughs at that, open-mouthed and heartfelt.  
  
“Interesting, because I like to get fucked by insufferable Albanian bankers. Seems like we’re a match made in heaven.”  
  
There’s a glint in Le Chiffre’s functioning eye that speaks of more than lust and hunger. It’s a warning Adam chooses to ignore. Le Chiffre doesn’t like being reminded of his background, it seems, and Adam stores the knowledge away for later use. Now though, he continues to play the role of the aforementioned cheeky journalist and uncrosses his legs with pointed jauntiness.  
  
“I could not fail to note a particular skill set of yours, Mr. Towers.” Le Chiffre’s voice is controlled, his whole posture rigid and stiff where Adam is all pliant muscles and rolling hips. “Where did you learn to suck cock as expertly as you do? I imagine at boarding school? Which was it again? Winchester College?”  
  
Adam stills in his seat, a wisp of genuine surprise flitting across his face. “How hypocritical of you, to admonish me for doing what lies in my nature as a journalist while doing it yourself. What’s your excuse for stalking me?”  
  
It’s Le Chiffre’s turn to laugh, dark and sensual, and Adam’s cock hardens at the sound of it. “I have no other excuse but an inexplicable fascination with your person.”  
  
“And my cock sucking abilities,” Adam adds.  
  
“And that,” Le Chiffre agrees, unabashed.  
  
“To sate your curiosity then, I did indeed hone my abilities at boarding school and university. What better place to learn than a campus full of horny teenagers with no other outlet than their own hands or those of their peers?”  
  
He leans back, repositioning ever so slightly to give the other man a better view of his swelling erection.  
  
“All the handjobs, blowjobs, lost games of soggy biscuit…” he reminisces fondly.  
  
“I imagine you lost quite a few of those on purpose?” Le Chiffre asks, eyes firmly set on Adam’s face.  
  
“Not all of them, but enough.” Adam licks over his lips, the urge to rub himself through the silky fabric of his pants nearly overwhelming. He keeps himself in check, if only because he has a fleeting suspicion that Le Chiffre wouldn’t appreciate him coming in the expensive trousers.  
  
“Of course. No doubt you were quite popular with your fellow students considering that you were voted both the prettiest boy and girl during your stay in Oxford.”  
  
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Le Chiffre,” Adam gasps with mock indignation. “Bringing up my shameful past like that.”  
  
“Shameful?” Le Chiffre intones. “Mr. Towers, you haven’t felt shame in a very long time, I reckon.”  
  
Of course he’s right. Adam came to the realisation that shame is nothing but an unnecessary burden very early on in his life. It was a concept easily discarded and never missed.  
  
“Would you like that? Me being all bashful?” Adam asks. “Blushing hotly as you gaze upon my naked body, virginal and pure? Tears running down my cheeks as you fuck me with that big, fat cock of yours?”  
  
Le Chiffre shifts in his seat, no doubt imagining the scenario Adam has described in vivid detail.  
  
“Perhaps another time. Tonight I’m looking for something else.”  
  
“And that would be?” Adam purrs, content, for now, with the implied promise of another shared night in which he gets to play the rosy-cheeked virgin.  
  
“I think you know already. Your safeword please.”  
  
“I always preferred the stoplight method.”  
  
With a subtle tilt of his head, Le Chiffre acknowledges Adam’s choice.  
  
“Very well. Undress.”  
  
The change in tone is instantaneous, the playful tilt gone entirely, to be replaced by icy determination and indisputable domination. He’s neither overbearing, nor condescending, but he demands obedience with a confidence born from the knowledge that his orders will be followed without questioning. Le Chiffre makes Adam _want_ to obey.  
  
Le Chiffre’s eyes are on him when he rises to his feet and begins to unfasten the knot of his tie, the silky fabric coming loose without any resistance when Adam tugs on one end. With a cheeky grin, Adam flicks it into Le Chiffre’s lap and winks when the man throws him a questioning look.  
  
The jacket follows soon after. This time Adam makes sure to fold it properly and put it out of reach. It _is_ a very nice suit after all and he’d hate to ruin it.  
  
By the time he is down to his shirt - he hasn’t put on any underwear, just as Le Chiffre has requested - Adam is so aroused it’s hard not to take his cock and jerk himself until he comes all over Le Chiffre’s annoyingly impassive face.  
  
It’s quite a tempting idea and Adam holds back only because he has the strong suspicion Le Chiffre would punish him mercilessly for such abhorrent behaviour. Not that he’d mind very much, but he has work to do tomorrow. Work that involves sitting on his arse for several hours. Considering this, it would be wise not to give Le Chiffre a reason to spank him like the naughty boy he is. For now, he rather have Le Chiffre be pleased with him.  
  
“Raise your shirt. Let me see you.”  
  
Adam follows the command without question and bares himself to the other man. He’s painfully hard, precum oozing from the pink tip of his dick and Adam wants nothing more than to get comfortable in Le Chiffre’s lap and fuck himself on his cock.  
  
Le Chiffre has other plans.  
  
“Turn around. Lean over the arm chair and spread your cheeks for me. I’d like to see your hole.”  
  
It’s humiliating, to be examined like cattle, but oh so arousing as well. Adam can barely keep himself on his shaking legs when he bends over the chair with his face pressed into the warm cushions and his fingers digging into the flesh of his own ass. At least he had the presence of mind to shave and shower before coming here.  
  
The room is pleasantly warm, but Adam still shivers when a gust of wind from the open window brushes over his exposed skin like a lover’s gentle caress.  
  
Le Chiffre on the other hand hasn’t moved a fraction. From what Adam can discern, he’s the epitome of relaxation; sipping on his whisky as if he’s merely having a chat with an old friend, and not ordering a virtual stranger to show him his arsehole.  
  
After what feels like an eternity, Adam has had enough. He stays put, but turns his head to look at the infuriating man, cheek rubbing against the covers.  
  
“Are you going to touch it or are you just going to stare at it?” he huffs, his voice strained due to the unnatural position.  
  
As soon as the words leave his mouth Adam knows that he has made a mistake. Le Chiffre stands without a word, puts the now empty tumbler aside and moves behind Adam in one broad step.  
  
“That was insolent, Mr. Towers.”  
  
Even if he would have wanted to, Adam doesn’t get a chance to apologise. With a strength he hasn’t expected, Le Chiffre’s hand comes down on his ass.   
  
He cries out in both pain and surprise, the muscles in his legs twitching with the effort of keeping himself standing. “Oh fuck!”  
  
There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill and he lets go of his ass to grab the arms of the chair instead.  
  
“Language,” Le Chiffre admonishes him, like someone might do with an insolent but beloved child.   
  
Adam is tempted to tell Le Chiffre to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, but is deterred by another brutal slap. Fire shoots up his spine, bright and burning, and he can’t suppress a soft whimper tearing itself from his throat.  
  
As much as Adam wants to sock Le Chiffre in the chin, he has to give it to the man: he knows what he is doing. The pain is excruciating but carefully measured and Adam is still hard.

  
“It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it? When the pain finally subsides?”  
  
Le Chiffre’s voice is a gentle whisper right next to his ear and the hand that had spanked him so mercilessly just a moment ago is fondling his abused flesh with aching tenderness.  
  
“Please answer, Mr. Towers.”  
  
Immediately, the gentle touch transforms into a harsh grip, manicured nails digging into his skin.  
  
“Yes!” Adam gasps, and squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.  
  
“That’s what I thought.”  
  
A kiss to the base of his sweaty neck is the reward for Adam’s obedience.  
  
“Sadist,” Adam mumbles into the cushions and Le Chiffre hums in agreement.  
  
“Crude, but accurate enough. You know, I never understood all these elaborate tortures. It’s rather pretentious, wouldn’t you agree? There is a certain beauty in simplicity that I value much higher than any diabolic torture devices. And of course, there is always the torture of the mind. The most exquisite torture is all in the mind.”  
  
Adam is given no time to ponder Le Chiffre’s philosophical take on torture and sadism before he’s spanked again. Over and over until it feels like his skin is splitting, ripped from his flesh in bloody stripes.  
  
“Remarkable,” Le Chiffre praises in between two blows that send Adam sliding forward on the seat. “Your threshold for pain appears to be quite high. I have yet to see your tears.”  
  
Another kiss, this time pressed to the curve of his ear. “What colour are you?”  
  
Good question, Adam thinks. It’s only been a few minutes, but his ass feels like it’s on fire. The pristine white shirt he’s wearing is half translucent with his sweat and clinging to his upper body like a second skin. And yet, his cock is still hard and leaking precum that pools obscenely in a crease of the chair’s covering.  
  
Adam swallows thickly. He wants to be fucked. Wants Le Chiffre to hit him while his cock is buried balls-deep inside his ass.  
  
“Green,” he croaks and gets up on his toes, presenting himself like the eager slut Le Chiffre no doubt thinks he is.  
  
Instead of another smack, he gets…nothing. Le Chiffre simply pulls away, leaving him bared, sore and aching all over.  
  
“What the hell?” Adam mutters and shifts a little, just enough to see Le Chiffre’s tall figure moving at his side. He’s not even looking at Adam, but rummaging through an ebony box he has produced from god knows where.  
  
“Please maintain the position a little longer. I assure you it will be well worth the wait.”

Adam has his doubts concerning that estimation but isn’t so stupid as to voice them.  
  
After all, he wants Le Chiffre’s hands back on him again. Even the sharp pain of his palm colliding with his backside is less torturous than the prolonged deprivation of his touch.  
  
Le Chiffre takes his sweet time doing whatever it is he’s doing and soon enough Adam’s patience has worn thin. By now, he’s willing to beg for something, anything, be it a gentle caress or the sharp stinging slaps. Anything to distract him from the strain in his muscles and the effort of keeping himself upright. His cheek hurts from where his face is pressed into the cushions, rubbed raw and bright red. His cock and ass are not much better off. The one look between his legs Adam has allowed himself revealed an almost purplish tip, the shaft twitching with every breath he takes.

A moment later, Le Chiffre seems to have found what he has been looking for. He returns to Adam’s side, bends over and presses his nose against the curve of Adam's neck.  
  
"Your smell is quite pleasant, Mr. Towers, I see you have heeded my instructions and didn't use any aftershave or cologne. That warrants a reward, I think."  
  
Adam jumps when cold wet lube trickles down the cleft of his ass and over his hole. Le Chiffre holds him down with one hand pressed against his lower back. With the other he distributes the lube, rubbing soothing, lazy circles into Adam’s sensitive skin.  
  
It's maddening. His ass still hurts from the thorough beating and the pain hasn't quite subsided yet, but already Adam leans into the touch again, desperate to have Le Chiffre's fingers inside him.  
  
His wish is granted. Without preamble, Le Chiffre fucks into him with two fingers and Adam screams. It hurts and it's good and it's entirely too much, too quickly.  
  
Le Chiffre finds his prostate with uncanny ease and moves his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, every thrust hitting the sweet spot inside him that makes him tumble deeper into mindless frenzy.  
  
"Oh fuck," he mumbles, his ass raised up high, his hips undulating to meet Le Chiffre's motions. Just a little more and he could come like this, cock untouched and ass bright red.  
  
"Oh god, fuck me."  
  
With the last shreds of his shattered will he swallows the humiliating ‘please’ resting on the tip of his tongue. If Le Chiffre wants him to beg, he has to try a little harder.  
  
It isn’t quite that easy though, and Le Chiffre isn’t quite so merciful as to give into Adam’s desperate request. All too soon, he pulls out, leaving Adam bereft and quite literally empty.  
  
It’s almost enough to make him reconsider his stance on begging. He longs for Le Chiffre's fingers, his cock, anything inside him to soothe the dull ache.

“All in good time, Mr. Towers," he assures.

Before Adam can protest, something hard and smooth is pressed inside him. Whatever it is, it's much thicker than just two fingers and all the air is pressed out of Adam's lungs as Le Chiffre works it inside his ass.

“Very good,” Le Chiffre praises him.

“What the hell?” Adam croaks, the stretch near unbearable.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of plugs and there’s no need for me to spoil the mood with lengthy explanations.”

Le Chiffre accentuates his words with another push and the plug slides in as deep as possible before the flared base catches on the rim of Adam’s already oversensitive hole. One thing is for sure: he’s never had a toy this size inside him. It’s excruciating.

Every breath Adam takes makes the toy rub against his inner walls, against his prostate and he doesn’t know anymore if it’s pleasure or pain he’s feeling.  
  
It’s impossible to keep himself on his feet like this and with a weak outcry Adam slumps into the chair, now on all fours, not caring that this position opens him up to Le Chiffre’s cold gaze even more.  
  
Gentle fingers brush through Adam’s dishevelled hair, moving down his sweaty neck and strained back before coming to rest on his lube-smeared ass.  
  
“Utterly beautiful."  
  
“Fuck you,” Adam grits out between clenched teeth.  
  
“Now, now, Mr. Towers, there is no need to be rude. We’re conducting an interview here, after all. Please show a little more professionalism.”  
  
If not for the huge butt plug inside his ass, Adam is sure he could have come up with a witty comeback. As it stands, he isn’t capable of much more than a few broken moans and half-hearted insults.   
  
No wonder his pathetic mumbling provokes only a soft chuckle from Le Chiffre. He pulls away from Adam and makes himself comfortable in his arm chair once more.  
  
“Turn around,” he intones.  
  
Adam does, moaning with every move that makes the plug shift and drag over his swollen prostate.  
  
“Spread your legs and shift forward so I can see all of you.”  
  
This command too, is followed without question.  
  
Adam’s hard cock bobs against his belly as he sinks deeper into the cushions, precum pooling in the dip of his stomach and navel. It’s ridiculous. He hasn’t leaked this much since boarding school, when he was still a horny teenager with one hand constantly inside his pants.  
  
“Happy now?” he asks with little convincing cockiness as he props his feet up on the edge of the chair, hands gripping his thighs to keep himself open and visible for Le Chiffre.  
  
“Very much so.”  
  
Le Chiffre’s gaze flickers to the side table and bile rises in Adam’s throat as realisation dawns on him: his dictaphone is still recording.  
  
“You planned this,” he accuses and is ignored.

Le Chiffre merely crosses his legs, folds his hands in his lap and nods at Adam. “Please, Mr. Towers, continue with your questions.”

With his mouth hanging open, Adam stares at the man across him. “You c-can’t be serious!”

Le Chiffre raises a brow.

He’s entirely serious.

“You damn arsehole,” Adam hisses.

God, he has a hard time remembering his own name, let alone the interview he had prepared for this interview. All questions his lust-addled brain can come up with all revolve around Le Chiffre’s cock and when he plans to stick it inside Adam.

“Bloody hell…”

He wants to be fucked so badly, there is no point in pretending otherwise, and while the plug keeps him stretched and full, it’s nowhere enough to make him come. Adam needs a thick, fat cock inside his ass and nothing less will do.

“That wasn’t a question.”

Le Chiffre delights in his suffering, Adam knows. Delights in the tight control he holds over him; knows that Adam will not touch himself without permission, knows that every command will be obeyed. And that all of this will be achieved with nothing but the power of his accented voice and overwhelming presence.

Before Adam can make up his mind whether to hurl more abuse at Le Chiffre or beg the man to fill him up with his cum, Le Chiffre picks a small, inconspicuous device from his pocket and presses a button on it.

Adam screams, head thrown back and fingers digging into the upholstery of his chair, as the plug inside him begins to vibrate with overwhelming intensity.

“Is it too strong, Mr. Towers? Should I turn it down just a bit?” Le Chiffre’s words are cold, not an ounce of concern to be found in them, but they’re not mocking either.

By now, Adam is barely coherent anymore. The constant onslaught on his prostate makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but the searing pleasure threatening to burn him right to his core.

He manages a weak nod, more a lolling of his head, really, but it’s enough. Immediately, the vibrations lessen and soon they’re nothing more than a pleasant buzz, a soft tingle up his spine.

“Would you like to come, Mr. Towers?” Le Chiffre asks.

Adam blinks at him, lashes sticky with his own tears. He can’t bring himself to form the words.

“I imagine you would,” Le Chiffre answers for him. “However, you will not. Not until I give you explicit permission.”

With another casual press on the button, he increases the intensity of the vibrations once more. Adam thrashes and screams, almost sliding off his seat when one careless move causes the plug to press directly against his swollen prostate.  
  
It would be so easy to end this. All he’d have to do is to wrap a hand around his neglected cock and jerk himself off, Adam thinks. If he’s lucky then he’d come hard enough to spurt all over Le Chiffre’s tailored shirt and pants. He could pull the plug out afterwards, throw it at his smug face, get up and leave.  
  
He does none of these things.  
  
Instead, Adam cries and moans, arches his back and writhes in the chair, all while cursing Le Chiffre who watches him with unconcealed arousal.  
  
“Your colour?” he asks after a while.  
  
By now, Adam is a trembling, panting mess, reduced to being a wanton bitch in heat, begging for a cock inside him.  
  
“A-amber!” he grits out between clenched teeth.  
  
“I see.”  
  
Le Chiffre’s expression softens and the vibrations lessens until the cease completely.  
  
“Come here.” He beckons Adam closer with one hand outstretched in invitation.  
  
With the last of his remaining strength, Adam slides off the chair, down on all fours - he doesn’t trust his shaking legs to carry him anymore - and crawls over to the waiting man.  
  
The reward for his obedience is a soft pet to his head and Adam strains his neck, nuzzling into the tender touch like a damn dog.  
  
“Mr, Towers, I am truly impressed,” Le Chiffre praises. “You’ve been behaving commendably.”  
  
He leans down, reaches between Adam’s cheeks and tugs on the flared base of the plug. It doesn’t fail to elicit a soft whine and more precum spills from the tip of Adam’s cock onto the pristine carpet.  
  
The touch is gone as quickly as it came and all too soon Le Chiffre straightens in his seat, forearms resting on the arms of the chair, his legs spread widely so that Adam has an unobstructed view of the prominent tent in his trousers.  
  
“We were talking about your outstanding cock-sucking abilities earlier,” Le Chiffre says, voice almost soft, and Adam looks up at him from his place between the man’s thighs. “I would like you to put these abilities to good use. Make me come with your mouth alone and in return, I shall grant you release as well.”  
  
It’s a challenge, no doubt, and one Adam cannot leave unanswered. Not wasting another second, he grabs Le Chiffre by the fly of his pants and makes quick work of the button and zip.  
  
His underwear is black as usual, but not even the dark fabric can hide the glistening, wet stain in the front. Adam takes another moment to appreciate the proof of what his lewd display and the sight of his naked body has done to Le Chiffre before he pulls the boxers down and the hard cock springs free.  
  
It’s as beautiful as the first time, thick and long, the foreskin gloriously intact.  
  
With a pleased hum, Adam pulls it down to expose the glans. It’s wet with precum and a deep shade of red. Le Chiffre’s self control is remarkable, considering the state of his neglected cock.  
  
He won’t have to be patient for much longer, Adam decides, and sucks the tip of the hard, slick cock into his mouth.  
  
Adam wants to make Le Chiffre beg for it. Payback for the torture he had to endure at the man’s hand. He presses his tongue against the small slit at the tip, lapping up the precum collected there and they both moan.  
  
Le Chiffre tastes so good and Adam can’t bring himself to suppress the appreciative noises bubbling up his throat.  
  
Adam has always been a greedy, hungry thing, always wanting more, more and more, in and out of bed. And now he wants Le Chiffre coming down his throat in thick, violent bursts. Wants the man’s taste on his tongue while he moans Adam’s name like an obscene prayer.  
  
The cock inside his mouth twitches when he swallows it whole. He opens up his throat, letting it slide down until his nose is pressed into the nest of dark pubic hair at the base of Le Chiffre’s cock.  
  
Breathing is proving to be a challenge, near impossible by now, and Adam feels blood rushing to his head. A desperate attempt by his body to supply his brain with oxygen.  
  
Adam doesn’t care.  
  
All that matters are Le Chiffre’s breathy moans and the involuntary bucking of his hips whenever Adam grazes the rigid flesh with his teeth. He’s close, Adam can tell and he can’t resist sneaking a glance at Le Chiffre’s face but never ceases sucking and licking at every inch of that gorgeous cock.  
  
Le Chiffre’s face is covered in a sheen of sweat and his upper lip is pulled back in a vicious snarl that reveals his sharp incisors. It’s a beautiful expression and Adam redoubles his efforts, eager to see the man come undone. Even the gently vibrating plug pressing against Adam’s prostate is forgotten.  
  
Right up to the moment when Le Chiffre scrambles for the remote - his fingers shaking, barely able to hold onto the small device - and, with a triumphant growl, increases the vibrations to the maximum.  
  
Adam screams around the cock in his mouth, nearly choking on it when his whole body jerks forward.  
  
It’s a game, Adam reminds himself when another thick spurt of precum washes over his tongue. Le Chiffre is still playing and he has no intention of losing.  
  
Neither has Adam.  
  
With inhuman determination born from desperation, he forces his body to relax, so that the pressure on his prostate lessens and the overwhelming urge to rub himself against the carpet subsides at least a little.  
  
Instead, he concentrates on worshipping Le Chiffre’s cock, moaning at every twitch as if he’s the one deriving pleasure from the act. In a way, he does. Ambrosia itself could not have tasted more divine than Le Chiffre’s precum on the tip of his tongue. It’s like an aphrodisiac that makes his hole flutter around the plug whenever he swallows another mouthful.  
  
Not long and he will come, dick untouched.  
  
Adam increases his tempo once more, spit and precum dripping down his chin and onto the fabric of Le Chiffre’s pants. He doesn’t give a damn. He takes in Le Chiffre’s cock one last time, so deep that it hits the back of his throat and he’s gagging on it.   
  
Le Chiffre’s orgasm hits Adam with a force that he hadn’t expected. Sticky, white cum fills his mouth, so much that Adam can’t prevent it from spilling past his lips. Well, Le Chiffre’s pants and the carpet are ruined already anyway.   
  
He swallows as much of it as he can, milking that cock for all that it’s worth and more, until Le Chiffre is a grunting, moaning mess above him.   
  
With a soft plop, Adam finally pulls back, tongue peeking out to catch the cum drying on his skin, and looks up at Le Chiffre, as pleased as the cat that got the canary.   
  
“Come here,” Le Chiffre rasps when their eyes meet.   
  
There’s no need to tell Adam a second time. As quickly as his wobbly legs allow, he scrambles to his feet and swings his legs over Le Chiffre’s lap. A whimper tears itself from Adam’s throat as the the softening cock rubs against his perineum.

“Please,” he gasps, reduced to begging after all, only to be silenced by Le Chiffre’s insistent tongue in his mouth.

He’s licking the last lingering traces of cum out of Adam’s mouth while his hands move from Adam’s neck to his back and finally, fucking finally, between his ass cheeks.  
  
The plug is abruptly yanked out of him, making Adam cry into Le Chiffre’s mouth and his cock spurt precum against his shirt.   
  
He feels empty, if only for a moment, and then there are suddenly three of Le Chiffre’s fingers inside him, moving in and out of his ass in a frantic rhythm, hitting his prostate with frightening accuracy.

When he comes, it feels like a tidal wave washing away all the pain, leaving him floating on a sea of sheer bliss. All tension leaves his body and he slumps against Le Chiffre’s, tired and exhausted all of a sudden.

The French were not so wrong when they called it the little death, Adam muses. Never before has he felt so close to tender oblivion.  
  
“A remarkable performance, Mr. Towers,” Le Chiffre mumbles, voice raw and more than a little breathless.  
  
Adam huffs and lifts his head off Le Chiffre’s sweaty chest to press an innocent kiss to his lovely lips.  
  
“Don’t you think it’s time you called me by my first name?” he asks, tongue darting out to lap lazily at Le Chiffre’s upper lip.  
  
He doesn’t move, his lips unresponsive underneath Adam’s coaxing mouth. Then he sighs, breath warm on Adam’s naked skin, and buries his nose into the damp mess of his hair.   
  
“As you wish...Adam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments, kudos and bookmarks! I am so happy people like this strange little pair. I'm very very fond of these two idiots.
> 
> I have to apologise for the delay, but I was a bit busy writing my Bachelor thesis! Now that I'm finally free and with a degree I can write all the porn I want. Yay!
> 
> Also, if you'd like some personalised porn of your own don't hesitate to ask me on [Tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com/post/147161168978/staticraining-hello-everyone-its-summer) or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining).


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